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I never thought I would see a thousand pound sparrow fly. Let alone live in a cell block at Lancaster prison. He flew inside this building 5, about six months ago. And of course, I am the one who befriended him. Despite the fact he unleashed tons of bird droppings each week.
Well no, the sparrow is not a thousand pounds, nor does he unload massive amounts of do-do.
We meet each morning at the water fountain. After breakfast, as I sit and read or write at the metal table in the dayroom he comes up behind me for a meal. I shall continue to leave droplets of water at the top of the fountain, so my sparrow friend can drink each morning.
Despite the absurd notion some people perpetuate here that one tiny bird can cause bird flu, the destruction of an entire cell block, as if one house sparrow waste can fill an already stinky building with piles of droppings. I look around and I don’t see any turds anywhere, only a happy sparrow living in bird solitude among humans and dogs from “Karma Rescue”.
Each morning I am released from my cage to do my porter work, I go to the water fountain, which is dry from not being used overnight. When I look around, there is my sparrow buddy dancing from laundry cart to trash cart, watching and chirping at me. Sometimes I chirp back. The bird is excited about getting his first drink.
I fill up two water containers. I make sure to overflow the fountain leaving tiny puddles all over its surface. When I walk off, not more than ten feet away, the bird darts to the fountain. The water spots are not deep enough for a bird to bath, but it’s enough to wet his beak and for survival.
After breakfast – I have collected all the trash, cleaned a shower and mopped one side of the dayroom floor where the dogs live. I go back to the metal table and start reading and writing. I’m soon interrupted by the sparrow’s song or our silent spirits connected by nature. The sparrow appears again on trash or laundry carts, or bobbing up and down under a bench near the dayroom TV. I toss him a small chunk of bread or a few sunflower seeds. He quickly heads to the sky with the bread, to the roof.
People not understanding the nature of the sparrow, fill up containers with bread, cookies and popcorn, all kinds of stuff, as if they were feeding a flock of turkeys or chickens. Another container is filled with water, and both tubs are placed under the metal stairs. The sparrow thinks it’s a trap and never goes over there.
Some insects having escaped the outside birds are caught on the wing or up against a window sill or light, by my sparrow friend, Monk.
If Monk is dropping mountains of turds he must be doing it in high places.
Sometimes when someone is at the water fountain or interrupts his drinking, Monk fly off. Still thirsty, he awaits his turn, on a laundry or trash cart. He sips as much water he can before it evaporates.
It’s May, and heavy into spring. Sometimes it feels like I am in a perpetual state of spring, new life, new lessons, and new growth. Wanting hugs and kisses. Just to be in the presence of love, of romance. To sniff and taste love and beauty. The scent of love in the air. It’s so hard not having that spring connection with another being.
Maybe Monk has lived thousands of springs already and has gotten burnt out on sparrow groups and community politics and become disenchanted.
Monk the sparrow seems content to live in the cell block, and own the air he flies in (no females). For me, women are to the world what stars, moons and planets are to the universe.
I tried to coax Monk out and opened door a few times. He could see, smell and taste Mother Earth, other sparrows, blackbirds, ravens and rock doves. I placed crumbs at the door, but he flew past a few times and back up to the roof.
The scent of spring must be in the air. Yet, Monk seems satisfied to wake up each morning with the kitchen workers, and dart across the cell block sky.
Spoon Jackson
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Photo Credit: Getty Images